Come Home
by Natsumiya Teirin
Summary: Based off the song of the same name, composed by Peter Elderich(?), but specifically based off the cover sung by the New York Voices. Listen to it while you read. The voices echo in his ears constantly, enough to drive him insane. Rated T for insanity and implied character death.


Things haven't been the same since the war ended.

After the birth of Lily Luna, Ginny was killed by a rogue Death Eater- but not without getting a good shot in, herself- and Harry was left to raise Lily, James, and Albus by himself.

And then they were all away at Hogwarts, and Harry James Potter was truly alone.

And then, he heard the voices.

Well, it was really just _one voice_ , but that one had split himself into _seven_ , so it may as well have been plural. But regardless of how Harry thought of it, it haunted him all the same- always the same eerie whispers and pleas, sometimes in the silky smooth hiss of parsletongue and sometimes not, but always tempting and tearing at his eternally bleeding heart.

 _Come home...come home to me... It's lonely out here..._

Even in his dreams, he heard it- the voice of a madman who'd long since died, ghosting over an icy tundra as solid, deathly cold hands pressed themselves against him. It was terrible, and resulted in him falling asleep in the office on more than one occasion.

By the time Christmas break came around, it hadn't gotten any better, and Harry knew Lily and James (Albus had chosen to remain at Hogwarts) could see it, too. Lily had even tried to sneak a Dreamless-Sleep Draught into his dinner one night.

He appreciated the sentiment, but knew the potion would only damage his psyche further.

Christmas came, and for the first time in what felt like ages, there was warmth in the small house.

And then his precious children left, and the house was freezing cold once again.

The voice(s) came back, more demanding now.

 _In a world- in a world so crowded, and so cold...come home...come hold me close- come home...!_

He felt arms curl around him as he tried to fall asleep, and the bags under his eyes grew heavier.

There were times he considered listening to the voice- to the man he'd killed several times over-, and would have his hand on the knife before he'd realize just _what_ he was doing and put it away.

Even if they were growing up, he had three children to care for, and there was no way he'd leave them to suffer the same fate he did!

 _OooOooOooOooO_

 _Come home...come hold me...the love you need...waits silently..._

"Shut up."

 _Come home_ _ **to me**_ _..._

"No, Tom."

But the voice was persistent.

Harry pretended to ignore the stares of his four children- Albus and Teddy had come home for Christmas- and excused himself to the kitchen.

He poured himself a glass of water and downed it in one gulp.

 _I'm going mad- I know it._

He poured another glass and raised it to his lips.

A weight settled on his shoulders.

The glass shattered and pierced the skin of his bare feet.

 _ **"Come home."**_

The voice was speaking Parsletongue and English simultaneously, whispering and hissing right into his ear.

He saw red eyes, flashing dark blue, then green, then hazel, then light blue.

He could vaguely hear Albus saying something about his boyfriend Scorpius, but he couldn't make out the words. He was breathing quickly, heavy, and he couldn't hear himself think over the pounding in his head and the steadily rising cacophony of voices.

 _Come home come home come home come home_ _ **come home come home come home come-**_

When did he fall? He didn't know, but suddenly he was on the floor and all three of his children- his sweet, precious babies- were looking down at him.

His vision was swimming.

"Papa? Are you alright?"

 _No, my dear, papa's not alright at all, really_

"Yes. Papa's fine."

 _Come home to me, Harry-_

His head was hurting again.

 _OooOooOooOooO_

On Valentine's Day, the voice spoke of love and warmth- and lack thereof- and Harry could feel it more vividly than before.

Arms- solid, but lacking any sort of temperature- pulled him into a firm chest-again, solid enough to be felt, but without temperature. Harry tried to distract himself, but in vain.

 _ **The love you need waits silently. In a world so crowded and so cold...come home.**_

The same words he always spoke, but reordered as the situation called for.

 _ **Come home to me...**_

He was growing frustrated and impatient, Harry could tell. Maybe he'd back off? Ha. As if. Tom Marvolo Riddle was a stubborn and possessive force, and death wouldn't change that.

 _ **Come home...**_

His head was hurting again. Harry groaned.

"Will you just _stop_?! I'm not going to off myself just to keep you company!"

 _ **Come home to me!**_

Harry let out a long-suffering sigh and resumed filling out paperwork, thankful for his private office. It was going to be a long day.

 _OooOooOooOooO_

Then came Halloween.

He lit incense for his parents and handed candy to the children who stopped by his door, and noticed only at midnight that the voice had been silent all night. A feeling of dread settled in his stomach.

And then there were the whispers- not Tom, but rather, _everyone else_.

 _Not my baby..._

 _...Take Harry and run..._

 _I'm innocent..._

 _...just like your father..._

 _Don't leave me..._

 _...Death is but the next great adventure._

And it was cold, _so very cold_.

Harry was dimly aware of an ache in his chest, but there was little he could do. The voices stole away all his attention, his vision was growing fuzzy, and there was an unfamiliar pressure building up in his lungs.

And then, everything stopped.

His vision cleared up, and all he could see was _white_.

Warm arms embraced him and a deep, velvet voice whispered soothingly into his ear.

 _"Welcome home."_


End file.
